


The Mistletoe Chronicles

by Caffiend



Category: British Actor RPF, High-Rise (2015) RPF, Jaguar "British Villains" Commercial, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies), Tom Hiddleston - Fandom, Tom Hiddleston fan fiction, british actors
Genre: Abduction, Asgard, Assassins, Bosnian crime syndicate, Dark Elves, Dom/sub, Edging, F/M, Fae & Fairies, God Jól, Hair Kink, Horn kink, Jaguar Holdings, Jaguar Tom does what he wants, Jotunnheim, Jólablót, King of Asgard, Light Elves, LokI and Ingrid, Love, Lust, Mistaken Identity, Oral Sex, Public Sex, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sex, Sir/pet, Size Kink, Suit Kink, The Corporation - Freeform, Twins, hit men, holiday sex, international crime syndicates, mild bondage, play fighting with some blood, sex in the Jaguar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-09-22 17:19:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17063879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiend/pseuds/Caffiend
Summary: In which my unwieldy cast of characters all Get Lucky For The Holidays. Suggestions for any of my stories welcome- I'll write 'till I drop or my spouse pulls my keyboard from my cold, dead fingers.





	1. An American Thanksgiving And A British Dessert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we begin the "Mistletoe Chronicles" with Thomas and Lauren from "The Reluctant Bride."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've stayed away from any specific time references in "Reluctant Bride," but I couldn't let this one go. You know Lauren would be the one to blare endless Christmas carols and wildly overdecorate. Or maybe that's just me. It's one of the very few things Lauren and I have in common, though I wish that list included Thomas.

The holidays were rapidly approaching, and instead of the excitement Lauren usually felt at the thought of decking the house in greenery and lighting every square inch, this year she simply felt a vague sense of anxiety. Thomas had been everything that was sweet- and occasionally filthy and dominant- since the ugly episode at the fundraiser. But he was still distant in many ways, disappearing abruptly for "business meetings," and overnight trips that did not include her. Lauren hadn't even mentioned Thanksgiving to him, not sure if Thomas was even aware of the holiday in the middle of his busy work schedule, and anyway, it was an American one, after all. To her pleased surprise, several American expatriates with the symphony invited her out for a "Thanksgiving abroad" dinner, but she was hesitant to bring it up to Thomas. She'd been so careful to keep her distance from anyone that could be misconstrued as being a friend.

But Thomas brought the day up first. "Thursday is your Thanksgiving, I believe," he said. They were sitting at the little café in the park after their run that morning, Lauren sipping her overpriced chai tea and enjoying the weak sunshine on her face. It had been unseasonably warm in London that year, and she wondered if they would have a white Christmas.

"Um, yes?" she said, watching him smile behind those blasted ray bans of his. God, the man was sexy… Lauren thought, smiling at him a little mindlessly. The night before had been spent in Thomas's "fun dungeon," and if it was possible to have a sexual hangover, Lauren was feeling it.

"Is that a question?" Thomas teased her gently, smirking. Of course, he was aware that she was still cock drunk, the conceited bastard.

"No!" Lauren flushed "I- I mean, yes, it is Thanksgiving."

Thomas had been checking messages on his phone and he put it away in the pocket of his windbreaker, examining her. "I believe we should go to dinner," he said calmly, "it seems a bit overboard to cook a full turkey dinner for the two of us. However, Nora's across the park does offer what they billed as a 'Chicago style' Thanksgiving dinner, whatever that might entail."

Lauren shook her head, laughing. "I'm not sure either," she confessed. Sobering a bit, she blurted out, "There are some of the American members of the symphony that, uh, are putting together what they called an 'Expatriate Thanksgiving.' Would…" she floundered for a moment. This was madness. Thomas would not want to get to know any of the musicians better than he did, and frankly, it was a terrible idea. What in the hell was wrong with her?

"That sounds interesting," Thomas interrupted, "why don't you RSVP for the two of us. Just let me know what time." His thin lips stretched in amusement as her mouth dropped open. Gently putting a forefinger under her chin and shutting it again with a snap, Thomas kindly added, "It sounds like great fun."

 

Apparently, the Americans wanted to go 'full-scale fancy' with the Thanksgiving dinner. So Lauren was dressing in her off-shoulder black velvet dress with a full Fraser plaid skirt as Thomas arrived home from an early meeting. She looked up to see him leaning against the door to their dressing room, arms folded and watching her in amusement as she hopped from one foot to the other, ungracefully trying to get her stiletto heel on. Lauren was not particularly adept in high heels, but Thomas had gifted her with these Louboutins, and she wanted to thank him by wearing them to the dinner. "Lovely…" Her husband growled, azure gaze sweeping up and down her body appreciatively. "I must dress you up more often darling, it is taking every ounce of my self-control to not throw you on the bed and have you for dinner instead of the turkey."

Infuriated to hear a little girlish giggle slip past her lips, Lauren flushed. "Now you're just teasing me," she said nervously, "will you be ready to leave in about half an hour?" Of course, he will be, she thought crossly, Thomas calm and perfectly put together. She was still pink-cheeked and panting a little from wedging herself into her dress and trying to zip it up.

Thomas stepped forward with a dark little smile. Making a twirling motion with his fingers, he urged her to "Turn around, darling. I believe you have missed a snap or two on your dress." 

"Oh?" Lauren turned her back to him, "I thought I'd gotten everyth-"

She was cut off with a groan as the tight bodice of her dress was rapidly unzipped and Thomas's long fingers sliding inside, squeezing the silk cups of her bra appreciatively. "So lovely," he purred, “it seems a shame that you should be wearing undergarments with this pretty dress." Lauren's blonde head dropped back with a groan against his suited shoulder. She couldn't watch the avaricious expression on her husband's beautiful face as he greedily groped her breasts.

"T– Thomas?" she squeaked, "We are bringing one of the appetizers, and, yeah…" How could he derail her so completely? "So we need to be there on time?"

He huffed, slipping his hands from her dress and carefully pulling the zipper straight, fastening the little hook and eye at the top and smoothing his big, warm hands down the bodice of her dress and straightening it. "There is one detail left unattended here," Thomas was purring again, that low rumble in the back of his throat that always made Lauren think of the creature the Corporation was named for. "I believe you are overdressed, darling." Thomas held out one hand. "I require your knickers." He so enjoyed watching his sweet wife's eyes widen in alarm. "Are you disobeying your Sir?" he asked sternly. Lauren shook her head silently, still staring at him with those enormous lavender eyes of hers. "Then pull up your skirt like a good girl…" he ordered calmly, "and take off that little scrap of silk and give it to me." Pine waited, eyebrow raised as he watched his bride's mobile face go from shock to apprehension to shyness, already biting that pink lower lip of hers. He unkindly enjoyed her internal battle, as it occurred to him that while he'd torn off his sweet girl's knickers many times in his eagerness to get at her, this was the first time he'd required them from her before they had gone out for the evening. Thomas could practically hear the poor girl's dilemma. With a little sigh, Lauren raised her full skirt with a crinkling sound from her crinoline petticoat and began shifting her hips back and forth to free her undies from their position around her hips. Bracing her hand on the counter, she caught the silk ruffles with the tip of her Louboutin and pulled them free, awkwardly handing them to Thomas, flushed a bright pink. His hand gently raised her chin and Lauren shivered a little in appreciation at the look of fond approval on his face. "Such a good girl for your Sir," he praised, kissing the tip of her nose, "let's be off."

Groaning internally, she forced a weak smile. She was not clever enough to pull this off. She knew it, and there was no way her horrible spouse would not continue to torment her. 

 

Lauren was, of course, correct. Thomas already had his Jaguar running and fully heated up for her as she entered the garage. "We wouldn't want you to be chilly, darling," he smiled solicitously, with just a tinge of malice. Just as he helped her into the car, he crisply ordered, "Pull up your skirt before you sit down." His sweet bride gulped.

"W- what? Why?" The girl backed against the passenger side of the sports car as Thomas leaned in, enjoying using his height to loom over her. 

"Because," he said calmly, precisely, "I want your bare arse on the heated seat of my car. I want to smell your sweet kitty and see you rub yourself all over the leather and perfume it with your scent." He'd certainly said filthier things to Lauren, but she gasped like a maiden aunt. Thomas's beautiful eyes narrowed a fraction. "Be my good girl, now." With a look of despair, the girl pulled up her full skirt again and hesitantly slid into the passenger seat. "Very good, darling," Thomas sounded calm, but Lauren could hear a grin behind it. _Damn_ this man!

As they drove, Thomas kept up a light conversation about other American holidays, one hand on the wheel and the other- _damn_ it!- on Lauren's thigh, slowly stroking her skin and moving upwards. She pressed her lips together, trying to not whimper like a high-schooler.

"...Halloween always seemed interesting," his sonorous voice was infuriatingly calm, even as his warm palm was stroking along the thin skin of her inner thigh. "The decorations seem almost as over the top as Christmas decor. What's the draw- the decor or the candy?" When she didn't answer him, Thomas pinched her leg, right next to the swell of her center.

"AH!"

"Yes, darling?"

Closing her eyes, Lauren tried to concentrate. "Both, of course. It's the best of the holidays. You can dress up, decorate, eat candy and you don't have to buy meaningless presents for anyone." Her hands tightened on the seat, making the leather creak as her husband's long fingers finally slid along her lower lips, already moistening hopefully. But not pleased with the state of his wife's cunt, Thomas put his middle and index finger to her lips. 

"Suck them, little one. Get them wet." His sweet bride's eyes widened beseechingly, and his narrowed accordingly. "You heard your Sir." With a small sigh, Lauren's mouth opened and she sucked his fingers in, flicking along them with her tempting little tongue, as nimble as a hummingbird. When he was satisfied with her efforts, Thomas pulled them from her lips and slid them to bracket her clitoris, squeezing it lightly between them. The reaction on his darling was immediate, as her back arched, head falling back against the seat. They'd stopped for a red light, and Thomas was certain Lauren hadn't noticed. He glanced at the car next to them and noticed the driver staring at her open mouth and flushed skin with considerable interest. Teeth bared in a snarl, Thomas watched the man visibly gulp and hastily return his attention to the road, driving off the moment the light turned green. It was here where his long arms really became useful, Pine thought with an internal grin, still steering the car with one hand and angling his fingers with the other to suddenly slide up his wife's channel, enjoying her little shriek.

"Oh, God, Thomas!" Lauren's attempt at reason broke off into a moan as he subtly altered the angle of his fingers, making her actually ride them inside her as if it was his cock. "I can't- we can't- you're dr- OH, GOD!" With a low, savage chuckle Thomas pushed in another finger, stroking the rough pads of his fingertips along her satin walls and pressing and prodding in so many sensitive places. 

"Ride your Sir's hand, you dirty little girl, do as you're told." And to his pleasure, she did, angling her hips to take advantage of his stabbing fingers and riding them as if she was positioned above him and impaled on his cock. The feel of her silk wetting his fingers and slicking her inner thighs made him groan, Thomas's cock appreciating the feel of her and rising to harden against his stomach, painfully erect. "Such a lovely kitty..." he soothed her, voice guttural, "your Sir is very pleased with you." Pushing the wide pad of his thumb against her clitoris, he began tapping it firmly in time with the strokes of her cunt, rising and falling against his fingers. He knew his Lauren's "tells" now, knew when she was close to coming. And when those little moans and gasps started growing louder, the silky walls of her channel clenching against his fingers, Thomas abruptly pulled them from her.

With an infuriated wail, she looked at him angrily. "Why did you-"

Thomas smiled innocently... as innocently as a murderous head of an international crime ring could. "We're here, darling."

Dazedly wiping her perspiring forehead and pushing back the curls that had fallen from her neat updo, Lauren tried to focus on the red brick townhouse in front of them. "But... I..." She tried giving her cruel husband her best look of innocent desperation, and he ignored it. Smiling pleasantly as he wiped his wet hand with a dish towel that had been covering their appetizer offering, Thomas discarded it and picked up the tray of cheese, bread, and olives. 

"Come now, darling. We mustn't be late. The appetizer, you know..."

 

Watching the forbidding Number Two of Jaguar Holdings graciously converse with her fellow musicians at the party, Lauren shook her head. She never would have expected Thomas to get along so well with everyone, putting them at ease immediately with a well-placed joke and courteous inquiries about their lives and careers with the symphony here in England. Even Edna st. Claire, the sour-faced Third Harpist who approved of no one was tittering at a story Thomas was telling about a trip to the southern portion of the United States and a deep-fried turkey that set his host's outdoor kitchen and pool house on fire. Feeling the uncomfortable clinging of her inner thighs as she altered her stance, Lauren seethed with resentment. Just before the door had opened, he leaned down to murmur, "You will not clean yourself. I want you wet and sticky when I raise that skirt." Before she had a chance to plead with him, he was greeting their host with a firm handshake.

Dinner was wonderful, the wine selection perfect and the conversation centering around her favorite topic in the world- music. Yet Lauren continued to shift miserably, the constant rubbing on her swollen lower lips only making her discomfort worse. Finally, Thomas put one firm hand on her thigh, leaning in to whisper, "Behave yourself, you naughty little thing. Or I will be forced to explain to the rest of the party why my darling wife is wiggling like she's sitting on a pile of tacks."

"I hate you," Lauren barely whispered, resenting how Thomas's broad shoulders shook with a silent chuckle.

Finally, _finally,_ the pie was finished and everyone sleepy and enjoying the fire, and Lauren took her husband's hand, pulling on it with a silent plea. His brow rose, "Yes, darling?" Thomas asked pleasantly, "ready to go so soon?" There was an immediate chorus of protests from her fellow musicians urging them to stay longer, and with a stern look from Thomas Lauren smiled weakly and sat next to him, almost shooting up again with a gasp when she realized he'd quickly slipped his hand under her bottom. With a single head shake, he made it clear she wasn't moving. "Stay right where you are, you greedy little thing," his tone was cooler and made her correspondingly nervous. "No one can see the placement of my hand unless you move or make a fuss." Looking around furtively, Lauren could see he was right- the room was dim with the firelight and everyone slumped in the scatter of furniture. So with one white-knuckled grip on the sofa arm, she forced herself to not respond to the slow, firm rub of his fingers against her clitoris. Thomas, of course, was continuing the conversation, chuckling genially and drinking his glass of scotch with his "free" hand. Staring at his chiseled side profile, Lauren had never hated him more. It was another full hour and the girl was nearly in tears. Her jaw ached with gritting it to keep from moaning and whimpering, and her son of a bitch bastard husband had brought her to the brink of an orgasm five times before pulling back each time, petting her pussy softly and waiting for her to calm down before beginning the whole torturous process again. Her thighs were shaking with the effort of keeping them together and Thomas could see his bride was at the end of her ability to control herself. "Darling," he said fondly, "I believe it's time we were getting home." Lauren shot up like a rocket in her eagerness, and despite another cheerful chorus of voices asking them to stay, the couple left the Expatriate's Thanksgiving.

They'd barely made it around the corner and out of sight before Lauren managed to hiss, "Stop the goddamn car!" Ignoring Thomas's laughter, she lifted herself over the gear shift as he parked the Jaguar under the cover of a huge tree. Praying that the shaded windows gave them enough privacy, the blonde attacked his trousers, yanking the belt free in her haste and shaking fingers trying to get his fly open. She actually teared up when he put his hands over hers, stilling them.

"Tell your Sir what you want, baby," he said sternly, but there was definitely a twinkle in his stupid, beautiful, stupid cobalt, stupid gaze. Thomas pushed his seat all the way back and watched his desperate bride with a lazy smile.

"You know what I want!" Lauren groaned, "Now you're just being mean and I'm dying and-" Thomas unfairly arched his hips, driving his thick erection against her wet thighs. "Please, you- please put yourself inside me, Sir!" 

"Of course," Thomas hissed, the sibilance tickling her ear as his wife bit into his jacket, trying to keep from screaming as his cock drove up and into her, so wet that he didn't even need to stroke his way to the top of her as always, but shoving quickly through her slick channel and making her spasm against him. Growling, the cold Number Two forced his cock back inside her, trying to keep from coming himself from all the lovely, clenching squeezes of Lauren's channel as he pushed back and forth. Grinning as he felt her arch against him and let out a muffled shriek, Thomas murmured, "That's two..." before biting her ear and thrusting his strong hips vigorously, bouncing his moaning wife up and down on his shaft, which was getting hard enough to split the skin right off of it. But Thomas continued driving into Lauren until she'd had her fourth orgasm, and then began pinching her slippery, swollen clit between his thumb and forefinger. "You bad little girl," he grunted against her throat, "you're so wet and slick that I can't get a proper grip on this juicy button of yours. So I fear I'll have to pinch it quite hard to get a firm hold..." Laughing as she shook her head helplessly, Thomas ran his tongue along the swell of her breasts.

"One...

Two..." he could feel his orgasm racing down his spine, clenching his ass tightly and a white-hot pulse of energy shooting through his cock and out into his sweet wife's cunt just as his vicious pinch made her scream so loudly that he had to slap his hand over her mouth to quiet her as they shook and moaned their finish together.

 

Lauren was half-asleep as she watched her diabolical spouse light the fire in their own bedroom fireplace. She was wrapped up in Thomas's robe and resting bonelessly on their wonderfully comfortable bed. He'd bathed her gently, spending a great deal of time making sure she was quite clean, then wrapping her in his own robe and a warm towel for her wet hair.

"Thomas?"

He looked up, giving her a dark, knowing smile. "Yes, my angel?"

She was too tired to even blush. "Thank you."

Thomas leaned back, all sleek muscle and strength. "For which part exactly, darling?"

Lauren gave out a feeble giggle. "All of it." Sighing with relief as he got into bed with her, pulling her back to rest against his broad chest. "Do you, um... Do you celebrate Christmas, Thomas?"

His hand didn't stop stroking along her side, the curve of her waist, but her husband sounded indifferent. "Not for years, really. Aside from Corporation events."

"Oh..."

Thomas waited, but Lauren didn't say anything else. Putting his chin on her shoulder, he murmured into her ear. "What would you like to do, darling?" He could feel her little body stiffen with sudden hope, but she tried to keep her voice casual, too.

"Well... I've always loved to decorate- it's not about the stuff- the gifts. Just lots of pine boughs and a big tree... my mother had all these ornaments her family brought over from Scotland, and-" she stopped quickly and Thomas knew she did so because her voice was about to break.

His thoughtful "Hmmmm" rumbled soothingly up her spine. "Well, perhaps two trees. One for the great room-"

"By that big bay window?" Lauren interrupted him hopefully.

"Of course," Thomas agreed, "and one for here in the bedroom. You can keep the twinkle lights on all night if you wish."

She'd pulled herself away from his long arms and turned over, staring up at him. "Really? We could do that? The lights wouldn't bother you?" Lauren's eyes had that particular appeal that always twisted Number Two's gut a little. An expression that held just a touch of hope- that his bride was allowing herself a sliver of possibility for happiness.

"Not at all," he said, kissing her. "Not at all."

 

 

 

The "Cock of Arms" from the inspiration of Candy-Flaps and the artistry of Archy 3001

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As for the next pairing... my beloved Misreall wants a Christmas "hoe hoe hoe" for Robert and Arianna from "Dr. Laing's Loose End," my very first story and a "High Rise" tale. If you have a paring from one of my stories that you'd like to see bedecked in holly, please offer a suggestion!


	2. The Doppelganger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they say that for everyone on the planet, there is another person who is their exact match- a doppelganger. What happens when Thomas and Maura run into his in a pretty little town on Christmas Eve?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm cheating a bit here... this is the one-shot I wrote in honor of Roo2010's birthday last December. But if you didn't have a chance to read about Thomas and Maura's lovely adventures after "Not Going To Happen," this is a a good start. 
> 
> This little holiday tale may not make much sense if you've not read the earlier stories in the "Jaguar Villains" stories. But if you're just here for the smut, have at it.

They say for every human on the planet, there exists an exact duplicate. A doppelganger. Nonetheless, Thomas and Maura were not expecting to meet his in the quaint setting of Bath. They were also not expecting the two gunmen who'd somehow escaped their global sweep and destruction of the Paukove Mreže syndicate, a ruthless Bosnian crime family that specialized in child sex trafficking. How these two gunmen escaped was a mystery, but there was no question they knew who Thomas and Maura were, and they intended to shoot them. Preferably after torturing the couple first.

“Let’s go to Bath for the holidays,” Maura muttered, “it’s so quaint and there’s a timeless feel.” She was focusing on not slipping off the wet slate tiles as they loped over a rooftop, trying to dodge the snarling Bosnians on their trail.

"I would hate to think," Thomas commented as he leaped gracefully to the next icy roof, "that my darling girl was complaining. Such an ill-bred reaction to our pleasant holiday."

"Pleasant! Ow!" Maura hissed as she slipped on the tile, scraping her shin. 'Of course, Thomas wouldn't slip,' she thought resentfully, watching the man's long legs stretch over the shingles, even as he was sliding his hand into his jacket, pulling out a switchblade. A meaty 'thunk!' sounded next to her as the bullet sprayed tile chips against her side. Angling to the chimney, Maura tucked in behind it as she pulled her gun. The Bosnians were using silencers, which gave them the advantage of not drawing attention while attempting to shoot them. If her gun went off in this quiet, pastoral scene, it would be like a cannon going off in the middle of Wembley Stadium. A strangled howl from behind her signaled that Thomas's blade had met its target, followed by a loud 'thump!' of a body landing messily on the cobblestones. Maura winced, hoping the bloody spray didn't stain the pretty arrangement of holly and pine someone had made for the front door of the house. She stifled a shriek as a hand grasped her upper arm, yanking her to her feet.

Thomas's mouth moved next to her ear, his warm breath puffing against her neck. "Time to go, Pet, before he returns with reinforcements." Nodding, Maura took his hand and they leaped lightly into a (somewhat) softer variety of bushes to break their fall.

“Not that I’m complaining,” she ventured as Thomas pulled off her ripped jacket and slid his cashmere topcoat over her shoulders, pulling out twigs and leaves in her long curls from the fall, “but it just seems like we can’t kill enough people! One holiday in peace, is it too much to ask?”

He took her chin in one leather gloved hand and rose it to look at him. “Poor darling. Attempt to look untroubled as we stroll back to our hotel and I shall make it up to you.”

Maura hated how her insolent center immediately moistened, sending a spurt of heat through her spine. “Well…” her next attempt at reason died off as his mouth- and teeth- met the back of her neck. “I suppose...uh...what were we talking about?”

Thomas laughed as he slid his arm around her shoulders protectively. “About killing more Bosnians. Perhaps after dinner, Pet. I’m starving.”

 

It was second nature for this couple to look non-threatening, heads down, avoiding eye contact with a vague smile that made them look like another husband and wife on holiday. So it was perplexing to see so many passers-by nod and smile at them.

Leaning closer to Thomas, Maura murmured, “Is it me, or do we seem to be getting more attention than usual? Is there a stick in my hair?”

Brow furrowed, he rearranged his handsome features into something that resembled pleasant. "Agreed, but I'm not certain why. Almost to the inn, Pet. Just a bit more."

"Hullo, Tom!"

Maura felt an icy jolt in the pit of her stomach. They'd been made. But who would know a supposedly long-dead couple here? Thomas nodded pleasantly and kept moving, a firm grip around her waist. The woman who'd greeted them called out, "Where's Jackie?"

The couple walked slightly faster. "Jackie?" Maura mouthed to Thomas, brow raised.

There were more greetings, similar to the first, pleasant faces wishing "Tom, happy holidays!" while looking at Maura clearly expecting an introduction. After two more queries regarding the mysterious Jackie's whereabouts, she leaned in. "Sweetheart, I do believe you have a doppelganger."

 

Safely back in their suite at the suitably quaint and luxurious inn, the two did a quick sweep to check for intruders before sitting down, Maura rubbing her bruised shin.

"Poor baby," Thomas purred, enjoying her helpless, rapturous little shudder when he used that tone on her. "Let Daddy take care of you." Meticulously painting the afflicted area with ointment, his cobalt gaze caught hers. "What?"

"Jackie?" Maura inquired. It wasn't that the girl was jealous- heavens, no! While her love life had been rather severely cramped by being an intelligence agent for the United Nations, her Thomas enjoyed a varied and extensive love life as the second in command of the most powerful crime empire in Europe. But, while the rest of the Corporation's executives had long fed the crabs in the waters off the city of Algiers, she and Thomas were very much alive, and surprising no one but themselves, very much in love.

His perfect brow furrowed as Thomas slid those warm, rough hands down her leg, absently massaging her. "I've never had a Jackie..." eyeing her, he amended, "in Bath." He chuckled at Maura's set and polite smile. "Perhaps I should remind you about how much I enjoy having you, Pet?" At her noncommittal hum, he chuckled and lowered his mouth to the inside of her knee. "Sweet, lovely Maura..." He watched as her head dropped back against the sofa, a little sigh escaping those pink lips he so enjoyed.

 

Meanwhile, another couple was struggling with some confusion as well. "Darling," Tom said, dropping a kiss on his fiancee's head, "I found the spices you wanted, along with something pretty for Lizzie- just something for her stocking!" He placated, looking at Jackie's expression.

"You spoil her," she commented quietly, deftly flipping the delicate dough over and adding in more butter.

Kissing her shoulder, Tom placed his chin against it, watching her work. "She's mine to spoil, Jackie," he nuzzled into the sensitive skin of her collarbone, enjoying the way it made his sweetheart shiver, "as are you." Jackie's hands stilled, still buried in the dough she was kneading for Christmas bread. Tom chuckled, knowing she'd be incapable of arguing her point for some time.

Shaking her head and trying to gather her wits, Jackie finally gasped, "Oh! It was the strangest thing. Olivia- the woman down at the silk shop that finds me my cross-stitch threads? She said she saw you today and said hello." Tom grunted non-committedly, still enjoying her soft neckline. "She said you were with some girl? Tall, black hair?"

Tom's head rose with a frown. He may be an actor who'd crossed the line to international stardom, but he'd never behaved in a way to cause his fiancee to doubt him- and Jackie was not a jealous woman. "Another woman? She must be mistaken. I shopped on my own today, other than calling Luke to check up on some commitments in January."

Jackie's eyelids fluttered, still trying to pay attention to the delicate dough gone dormant in her hands as her fiance continued to nibble along her neck. "Oh..." she managed, "all right, then."

 

Thomas was lounging- elegantly, of course- staring at the fire in their cozy parlor with a glass of Jameson as Maura tip-tapped away rapidly on her keyboard, trying to find anything on the Dark Web that would hint to how their pursuers managed to find them.

Finally pushing away from her laptop, Maura rubbed her eyes. "Ugh!" She hissed, "It must be dumb luck that these idiots spotted us. There's no intel, no chatter...as far as everything I've seen, the world thinks we're dead."

"Anything about a body found splattered on the cobblestones in a suburban section of Bath?" He queried, stretching his long legs more comfortably.

Maura shook her head, eyes still darting rapidly back and forth over the screen. "Which means there's more than two of them, and they're smart enough to clean up after themselves."

 

"Such a beautiful night!" Jackie's head was tipped back, eyes closed and smiling as she absorbed the bustle and the scent of roasting chestnuts as Tom led her through the stalls at the local Christmas fair.

"Such a beautiful you," Tom countered, smiling as he lifted a scarf to her face, eyeing the way it made her skin glow.

"No more presents!" She protested, laughing. "You don't think I haven't seen the pile of packages you hid in your closet?" Glancing over his shoulder, Jackie noticed a couple of men staring at them. She almost dismissed it- Tom was, after all, extremely famous, and even in her hometown, some people would still get star-struck when they spotted him. But...these two didn't look like fans. Their solid, blocky bodies were tensed and both were wearing frowns as they edged closer.

Looking down at his fiancee's concerned face, Tom looked over his shoulder. "What is it?"

"Those men," Jackie whispered, "I thought maybe they were fans because they've been following us. But they don't look like your sort of autograph-seekers.

Tom's azure eyes narrowed. No, they did not. In fact, they looked more like the kind of men planning to rob them. "Let's go this way," he urged calmly, leading Jackie to the left. "I know there's a constable or two at the stage area. We'll see if they drop off when they see an officer."

 

Meanwhile, Maura was not thinking about vengeful Bosnians or cleaning up crime scenes or the ruined holiday, or anything, really, other than the feel of Thomas's mouth against her center, licking and nibbling along her swollen lips, his unfairly talented tongue returning to her burning clit to tickle it now and then.

“Oh…” she moaned, hands sliding into his hair, gripping a bit harder than she intended to, “should we be… I don’t know… um… trying to find those Bos- OH!” Thomas’s licking had turned into a sharp nip, right on her suddenly rigid clitoris.

“This is not the time to be discussing such unpleasant things, Pet,” he warned with the slightest growl tinging his purr. “I might think you were not fully invested in my mouth and fingers-” here, he shoved two of them rather forcefully up Maura’s channel, enjoying her pained yelp, “-and more interested in fretting over such mundane details,” Thomas growled again, relishing how her thighs tightened as his whiskered cheeks rubbed roughly over her wet slit and down her thighs, already damp.

“Oh, no, Daddy,” Maura gasped, “this takes prior- prior- prior- oh, GOD! That feels so good!” She’d never known a man could stiffen his tongue and jab it up inside her, as some sordid prelude to his larger organ taking its place soon. But her Thomas was so very good at making her feel invaded every time he mounted her, using his fingers and tongue, his lips and teeth before finally letting her moan with gratitude as he slid his considerable cock inside her. He’d been so cruel tonight, dragging out his toying with her sensitive parts, making her come over, then over and then once more. Some part of her brain that was still vaguely coherent might suspect he was deliberately distracting her from the conundrum of their Eastern European non-fans, but Thomas was doing such a very good job of it. Feeling the wet tip of his cock begin to circle her entrance, Maura tried to help him by arching her hips.

Thomas smiled, a bit cruelly to hear her startled yelp as he briskly slapped her wet slit. “I do not believe I gave you permission to move, Pet.” His tone was mild, but Maura heard the threat implicit there and reluctantly rested her bottom back on the mattress. His head dropped to her collarbone, feeling his girl's fingers slide shyly into his curls again, scratching his scalp as she breathed deeply. "Good girl," he praised, "lying so still for Daddy. Open up, now. Spread those long legs wider and welcome me inside you. Open up, Pet." There was always a hitch in her breath, he thought, a little, choking gasp when he first slid into her, just as powerful today as it was all those nights again when he'd taken her to his London townhouse, feeding her dinner, then feeding off of her. And now, that obscene squelch of her juicy cunt against him- Thomas groaned again. Running his long fingers against her spread legs, he pushed down harder, flattening her to the bed. "Now, baby. I know those talented thighs can split wider for me. Opening up so nicely-" he gave a sharp push inside her, relishing Maura's whimper as she took him deeper, "giving me room to make my way up inside you." Rising up on one elbow, he watched his beautiful Morrighan's face turn sharper, fiercer as she raced for her orgasm. Pushing her legs higher, ankles around her head, Thomas chuckled breathlessly.

“Ah,” he gasped, really beginning to slam into her, the base of his cock grinding against her strained opening and swollen pearl, “there she is, come out to play with Daddy.”

Maura hissed, not able to stop herself. His pace was bruising her, shoving that infuriatingly huge staff through her and feeling like he might come out her throat. It burned and stung, it made her wildly wet and forced her legs down to clutch against his hips as tightly as she could, digging her heels into the tensed muscles in his ass. But it made her harder, colder part slink out of hiding, rising up to rear up against her dark Daddy, her hips nearly dislodging him from inside her.

Níl tú in iúl dom cad atá le déanamh,” she sneered, “a dhaidí.”

“Ah, but I do, mo chailín beag,” Thomas mocked her. If his luscious little toy was spitting Gaelic at him, Morrighan was well and truly out, and she was ready to play. Hard.

So he chuckled in a way he knew was bound to infuriate her and yanked himself out, abruptly flipping her to her belly, hauling her hips up and shoving his cock back into her roughly. Thomas slid his knees between hers, moving them wide so he could lean back and enjoy the sight of his cock sliding through her, her slick making him lewdly, beautifully shiny. His hand came down on her left cheek with a resounding 'whack!' enjoying how she tightened against him, startled and clenching down so hard it immobilized his dick inside her channel. As she loosened a bit, he chuckled and slapped the right, smoothing his hands over the burning red marks against her ass, moving within her again ferociously.

Morrighan growled reaching up and gripping his hair, yanking hard and pulling him down to bracket her with his arms and legs, sweating chest against her back. Arching her spine a bit to reach his balls, currently tapping briskly against her sore bottom, she gave them a slightly less than gentle squeeze, enjoying her Sir's corresponding groan. "Remember-" she gasped, "remember the first time I had you by the balls?"

Despite his uncomfortable awareness that his lovely pet seemed disinclined to release his scrotum, Thomas chuckled. "Which time of many? Literally, darling, or figuratively?"

Against her will Maura started laughing, making him moan above her as her pussy twitched in such a delightful way. "I was thinking about that time in Algiers," she admitted, "so satisfying to finally get the upper hand on you after all those days of..."

Thomas slowed to a stop above her, going back on his haunches and pulling out of her, ignoring Maura needy groan. Turning her over, he lifted her up and then down on his cock again, sliding smoothly up her wet, fluttering channel. "I believe you've had my balls-" Maura started giggling, it sounded so funny when Thomas said something so unutterably crass in his beautifully refined, 'I went to Cambridge' accent.' "-you've had my balls," he continued patiently, "since the first time I was inside you. It just took me a ridiculous amount of time to realize it, being so thick-headed."

"Well," allowed Maura, "most men are."

Thomas's hands slipped to her hips then, gently rotating her on his cock as he placed smooth kisses up and down her neck, over her chin, then her lips. Angling her to press against his shaft, he smiled that luscious smirk that always made Maura shiver as she came, just as he urged. Just as she always did.

Burying his face in her wildly tumbled hair as he came as well, Thomas groaned, "I love you, Maura-girl. I always have."

Tightening her arms around his shoulders, Maura shivered and smiled. "And I, you. Despite all our best efforts to avoid it."

 

While Tom and Jackie celebrated Christmas morning with her daughter Lizzie, laughing and opening presents, Thomas and Maura spent theirs tucked into their cozy suite, making love in front of the fireplace, both enjoying the sparkle of the lovely new strand of platinum around her neck, cementing their bond in a way a wedding ring never could.

 

"I've got it!"

Thomas no longer went for his gun every time Maura suddenly, loudly blurted out an exclamation in an otherwise silent room, but it was still startling. Rising, he went over to her, still bent over her laptop. "What have you found, darling?"

"Our stray Bosnians. It's part of that horrible little group at the-" and here Maura shuddered, "-the Silk Slipper. They'd been sent out on a 'recruiting mission' in Europe just before we pulled the plug on those loathsome bastards. I think they found us because there's a safe house nearby. They've been hiding out, trying to figure out what to do." She made a noise of self-disgust. "How could I have missed that during the purge?"

"There's always a rat that slips through," comforted Thomas, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. "Any idea of how many?"

Maura shook her head, but added, "It can't be more than a handful, less than ten."

"And we've only taken out one," Thomas mused, "it makes sense now, why they cleaned up their mess. The safe house is close and they can't afford detection. So they found us by sheer, dumb luck." Chuckling as Maura made another disgusted grunt, he smoothed her hair. "I'm certain a clever girl like you can find the safe house location? We'll make a lovely bonfire to celebrate the evening." Enjoying his dark tone of pleasure, Maura shivered blissfully.

 

It was another round of sheer dumb luck that- as Maura and Thomas were preparing to leave the inn and light up the countryside with a round of roasted Bosnian- Tom and Jackie happened to be strolling by on their way to the Christmas Night celebration in the middle of town, with a bonfire and a stage for choirs to sing. Tom was asked to read from "A Christmas Carol," but he'd declined, wanting to just be part of the crowd tonight. Lizzie was off with her friends and they were blissfully happy, simply holding hands and strolling along, enjoying the decorated shop windows.

"Wait- that man, Tom. He looks just like you!" Jackie pointed, eyes wide with surprise at the sight of a man who could easily pass for her fiance. A man who did not look happy to be pointed out. Tom's long legs carried them up to the other couple before they could slip away.

"Hello," he said, just a tad aggressively as he held out his hand. "Tom Hiddleston, this is my fiancee Jackie. I believe we've had some episodes of mistaken identity over the last day."

Jackie, unaware of the currents of dominance and protectiveness sweeping between the identical men, laughed. "I was beginning to wonder if I had something to worry about- everyone kept telling me they'd seen Tom with this Irish girl." Nodding at a weakly smiling Maura, "And here you are."

Switching on his charm like a light bulb, Thomas said, "What a surprise, finding my Doppelganger here in Bath! Jonathon and Mira Pine, a pleasure to meet you. Perhaps we can have a glass of eggnog together?" Maura knew he was herding them all into a private room at the inn, to keep anyone else from spotting them together. Keeping her back to the other three and scanning the street, she was the last one to enter the room.

 

"...So after falling right in front of him in the most embarrassing possible way, Tom helped me up and took me to a cafe in Abbey Yard, and, well... here we are." Jackie's pretty face was flushed from her eggnog and the pleasure of telling her story to the attentive Maura, who didn't seem to know much at all about her famous fiance.

"It sounds wonderfully romantic, I think." Maura could feel the sharp edges between Tom and Thomas beginning to dull a bit as the men circled each other in the conversation like two wary dogs. "And you two look so happy together. Are you getting married soon?"

Jackie glanced at her fiance and then leaned forward, lowering her voice. "Sooner than I'd like- there's so much to do! But... I did find my wedding dress, finally."

"Do tell!" Maura grinned, resting her chin on her hand. "Long? Short?"

"Well, it's..." The two spoke in conspiratorial tones, occasionally glancing at the men.

It was sometime later when eggnog drunk and conversation winding down, that the four stood, reaching again for coats and wrapping up against the cold night.

"A pleasure, Jonathon." Tom held out his hand again, this time Thomas taking it with willingness. His famous Doppelganger was a sharp, intelligent man that he'd enjoy getting to know better. In another life. But not in the one he and Maura currently inhabited.

Letting the other couple leave first, Thomas and Maura headed off into the opposite direction. She began laughing. "Of all the dumb luck! We're spotted by the Bosnians and run into your identical twin, who happens to be a movie star. That goes beyond dumb luck and more into the realm of the Universe having a bizarre sense of humor."

"Agreed," Thomas said, chuckling. "Let's go take care of our rat problem, shall we?"

 

Unfortunately, the rats found them first, this time five of them and all intent on taking them down in the most painful possible way.

"There's one," Thomas grunted, managing to slice the throat of one unfortunate thug, side-stepping to avoid the blood spray from his neck.

"Two!" Maura gasped, risking getting close enough to press her gun against the Bosnian's thick coat and muffling the sound of the shot.

Yanking her around the corner of a building and taking off in a run from the three shots fired off in their direction, Thomas looked down at Maura, panting. "I don't think we can take them here."

"And we can't risk someone stepping between us," she gasped, stretching her legs faster, willing them to move faster than the bullets seeking their backs. When he veered off, heading to the center of town, Maura slowed down. "Thomas, what are you doing? There's a crowd-"

"Exactly," he agreed, not quite yanking her along, "they can't risk shooting in the middle of town, either." But it was a nightmare, trying to slip through the crowd. Townspeople kept stopping them, trying to wish them a Merry Christmas or shaking their hands. Teeth gritted, they both tried to back away as politely as possible, Maura noting- with some amusement- that she was gifted with puzzled stares or narrowed eyes of suspicion, rather than the warm welcome Thomas was enduring. Ironically, she knew he'd do much better with the confusion and hostility than the overbearing warmth he was forced to endure. Spotting Tom and Jackie near the stage area, Maura changed course, pulling him along.

"Jackie!" she said urgently, reaching the woman and sliding into an alley, knowing her protective fiance would follow. "We need your help. There are some men following us-"

"-Rough looking types?" Tom broke in, brows set in a frown, "Looking like they're planning to rob you?"

"Worse," Maura admitted, noting that Thomas was blocking them from view from the little crowd, eyes sweeping in a search for the Bosnians. "We need to get out of here, quickly and quietly. This is your town, Jackie, is there a shortcut to the M4 out of Bath?"

Tom stepped in front of Jackie, his expression thunderous. “You’re the ones they’re looking for? We saw them yesterday, trailing us.”

“There is a way out,” Jackie said unexpectedly, moving back in front of her tall fiance. “No one will spot you, but it’s behind the stage. We have to get you over there and then keep the crowd clustered around so those men can’t-”

“Love, what are you saying!” Tom interrupted her. “I’m not putting you in danger by helping them, I’ll find an officer and-”

“They may mistake you for me and shoot you,” Thomas said grimly.

Pulling on his coat sleeve, Jackie made a furious Tom look down at her. “We need to help them,” she said firmly, “they’re good people, Tom. We have to.” Maura watched as the tall man visibly softened, looking down at his Jackie’s anxious face.

“All right,” he relented, “here’s what we do.”

It was only a few minutes later when the organizer stood on the stage and smiled broadly. “My friends! We have a special treat, our newest resident, Tom Hiddleston, Jackie’s fiance is going to read from ‘A Christmas Carol’ for us!” There was applause, but people looking back and forth, confused, seeing Tom in one direction and then in the other, being led by Jackie to the stage.

“Wait-” said one older lady, who ran the cafe where Tom purchased his sweets, “I thought he was already up there?” She smiled, bemused as the couple passed her.

Tom strode across the stage, gesturing with one hand for everyone to draw close, watching from the corner of his eye as one of the thugs was pushed to the back. Opening the book, he began.

“Marley was dead, to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it. And Scrooge's name was good upon 'Change for anything he chose to put his hand to. Old Marley was as dead as a doornail... “

Backstage, Jackie impulsively hugged Maura. “Good luck.”

Shaking her head in amazement at the woman’s kindness, Maura hugged her back. “Thank you. Truly.” Thomas took her hand, and they melted away into the darkness as Jackie watched, shivering a little. Turning back to look at Tom’s head, bent over the book, she smiled. She was the most fortunate woman in the world.

 

“Really? Of course on Christmas night!” Groused a fireman as he pulled on his heavy coat.

“Ten pounds says it’s a grease fire,” said his companion, flipping the lights on the fire truck.

By the time the three trucks made it to the shabby house consumed in an inferno of flame, there was really nothing left to put out. The structure and everything in it was nothing but ash.

 

Tom's dark head bent over Jackie's as he carefully poured a glass of champagne for her. "Merry Christmas, my love," he said tenderly, clinking his glass with hers.

"Merry Christmas," she repeated. They sipped in silence for a moment before she asked, "Do you think they got out safely?"

Tom's tone was dry, even though he smiled, "I suspect those two always make a clean getaway." Giving her another kiss, he settled back, enjoying the quiet moment with his bride to be.

 

 

You don’t tell me what to do- daddy! “Níl tú in iúl dom cad atá le déanamh,” she sneered, “a dhaidí.”

Ah, but I do, little girl. “Ah, but I do, mo chailín beag,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're wondering about Tom and Jackie, they're from Roo's sweet story "Ready To Love Again?" Which you'll find here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/3667176


	3. Jólablót - The Night of Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Loki and Ingrid of "Love The Way You Lie" celebrate the Jól of the Old Gods. Where a sacrifice is demanded to bring an end to the darkness of winter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Yuletide tale comes after the end of "Love The Way You Lie," my (surprising, at least to me) most popular story. Hope you enjoy the further adventures of Loki and Ingrid. At the request of my dear Toozmanykids and my new friend Jenn.

"God Jól!!" The toast went up from Thor, who bellowed at the top of his substantial lungs, making the King's eyes roll slightly as the great hall shook with the returning cheers of "God Jól!" in return. The God of Thunder was deep in his cups and had been for the last three days. But tonight's feast was the culmination of Jól, which began on the day of the Solstice, and Loki, King of Asgard (and by default all the Nine Realms) was prepared to tolerate his brother's antics. The reason for the King's new leniency was seated next to him- Queen Ingrid, his beloved wife, and mother to his twins. Who, despite overseeing three weeks of celebration at the palace- which was flooded with dignitaries and nobility from across the Universe- was still flushed prettily and laughing at her brother-in-law's exuberance. 

But because he could not resist instilling awe and fear, the King spoke next. "Ah, yes brother. This day we celebrate the return of the Sun with the Night of Sacrifice- the Jólablót." Loki's voice had deepened ominously, and a hush fell across the huge hall as his magically amplified voice carried to the farthest reaches. "The nights and days of darkness now begin to shorten, as the Goddess brings her sun chariot across the sky again." These stories were mainly myth, crafted for the mortals who still feared and worshipped the Aesir, not just on Midgard, but on several Realms who still clung to the superstitions of their elders. So Loki's dramatic retelling was really just self-aggrandizement since the myths and legends focused mainly on him- and Thor, who was busy raising his gigantic goblet and gesturing for more mead. “But first, we must offer Jólablót." Hundreds of guests shifted in their seats, murmuring anxiously and feeling the primitive, atavistic fear rise within them at the King's words. Loki paused a splendid and terrifying figure in his dark armor- such a dark green as to be nearly black- his silver weaponry and magnificent crown. "But for that, it is not yet time. So celebrate, our good friends! Eat and drink!" A huge and somewhat relieved roar of applause rose, and everyone got back to the business at hand: eating, drinking until they passed out, then reviving themselves to do it all over again.

Seating himself and kissing Ingrid's hand, Loki winked at her faint smirk. "Really, my husband? You could not let your brother's silly toast go unanswered?" The Queen's voice was low and teasing, and her lavender eyes shone with love for him, something Loki sometimes still could not believe had been gifted to him.

"Of course not, my darling," he murmured, deliberately adding a purr under his tone, knowing it would make Ingrid shiver a little, "we cannot allow the unwashed masses to believe that my idiot brother brings the new year, when it is clear that the end of the darkness comes from the King."

"Of course not..." his Queen's eyes sparkled before she leaned in, clearly asking for a kiss, which Loki gladly granted.

A light, lovely voice spoke up next. "What is a Jólablót, Father?" Brynja, of course, was the one to lean forward eagerly, hoping for all the gory details. Her lavender eyes and her sweet voice came from her mother- but the conniving brain under that pitch black hair was all her sire.

"Where a sacrifice is demanded from the Gods - a Jólablót," Loki smiled indulgently at his daughter. 

"Wh- what kind of sacrifice, Father?" the concerned question came from his son Arne, his jade green eyes wide and with an earnestness never seen in Loki's matching ones. 

"The Goddess does not bring the sun again without an appropriate sacrifice, my son," he answered, "an offering is required."

Ingrid, picturing several weeks of nightmares to come, gracefully stepped in. "And something best explained when you are older, my darlings-"

"I'm old enough!" protested Brynja immediately, but her mother laughed and shook her head. 

"It is very late, and time for you to sleep. We must bid goodbye to all our guests tomorrow. Please go and bid your grandparents goodnight before retiring." Ignoring their half-hearted protests, Ingrid tenderly kissed their children, who went to their father for the same before heading off with their nurse Hannah, long gone grey from looking after the offspring of the God of Mischief, who insisted on living up to their sire's name. 

Watching them reach the Light Elf contingent, Ingrid's eyes misted to see them enthusiastically hug and kiss King and Queen Leafstred, their Ljósálfar grandparents who were alight with love for the twins. Loki leaned in close to kiss her just under her ear, then whispering, "I am sorry your father is not here tonight, my love." The queen blinked back the moisture in her eyes and smiled firmly. 

"All things in their time, husband." She never knew how a stab of fear went through Loki's hardened heart when Ingrid spoke of her father- the brother of King Leafstred and unwilling consort to the vicious Dark Elf Queen of Svartalfheim. Ingrid, who could only speak the truth- possessed incalculable power and was the last of the Fairie in this Universe. And that she had predicted her father and the Fairie would return, followed by something unspeakable- the Other.

Forcing a smile back to his mobile lips, Loki kissed her again before leaning back to survey the great hall, not noticing that his Queen continued to watch him, smiling lovingly. Loki was her king, her husband, the father of her children. Her savior. Thinking back on their beautiful, tumultuous history, Ingrid didn't realize the exhaustion of creating the massive celebration of the past three weeks was finally catching up with her as she dozed off.

 

________________________________

 

Ingrid woke with a start, sitting up abruptly and anxiously rubbing her eyes as she looked around her. She'd fallen asleep at the banquet... but this was not her bedchamber. She was alone on a massive snowy field, stretching as far as she could see under a night sky so black that not a sliver of light could be seen- no moon, no stars, nothing. Rising to her feet, she walked for a moment, flicking one hand to keep from sinking into the deep snow. Her heavy ceremonial gown trailed after her as Ingrid turned in one direction, then the other, trying to spot any kind of a structure, the smoke from a fire, perhaps. Whatever brought her here was powerful magic. Her own should have grounded her in the great hall- or Loki would have blocked any attempt at abduction. With a sigh, she closed her eyes, sending her senses soaring in all directions, trying to discover where she'd been brought. The answer was not a comforting one.

This was a hunting ground.

The baying of hounds and distant shouts galvanized Ingrid into moving, racing across the snow. Another flick of her fingers changed her useless gown into heavy boots and leather pants, a thick coat. With a grim smile, she kept moving. She didn't need to conjure weapons, because she did not need them. Whoever was hunting her would discover that soon enough. Still, the Elf had taken a vow a century before to no longer take life is she could avoid it. But returning home to her family was paramount. The sounds of the animals hunting her and their masters grew closer, and Ingrid gritted her teeth, feet flying over the snow. How could any animal run this fast? She knew her speed could be nearly supernatural if required, but the heavy beat of hooves and paws grew closer still.

"There she is!" The roar went up, making the hounds howl and the shouts of the other hunters were cruel, eager. "Do not let her slip away! The King will tear us to pieces for animal fodder!"

Ingrid groaned. A King. Who else would be insane enough to challenge her husband? Loki would dismantle this place to the last molecule when he discovered her disappearance. As she squinted, the Elf could just make out a line of trees, if she could make it into the woods, she could-

"We have her!" She heard the wild singing shrill of the noose before she felt it, a loop of shining energy that landed over her head and wrapped instantly down her body, binding her arms to her sides and legs together, making Ingrid fall ignominiously face-first into the snow. A string of harshly growled words- something from one of the Dead Languages stole her consciousness before she even hit the ground.

 

It was the heat of the fire Ingrid felt first as she forced herself back into awareness. She was still bound in the glittering bindings, but she was naked underneath it. 'At least I'm comfortable and warm,' Ingrid thought bitterly. Shielding her from the cold stone floor was a massive white fur from some unimaginably huge creature. It was thick and soft. Forcing herself upright, the Elf looked around her. The fur was in the middle of a towering throne room, lined with fireplaces large enough to roast several oxen at once. There were hundreds of torches battling away the darkness outside.

"Ah. Awake at last, my prize." The voice was beautiful, sonorous like her husband's but with a jagged edge of cruelty. "I've been waiting for you, and patience is not a virtue I possess. You will pay for that."

Whirling, Ingrid's jaw dropped. _"Loki?"_

The man on the throne was Jötunn. Soaring black horns with delicate silver chains adorning them rose from his forehead. Luxuriously thick ebony hair, braided with beads and jewels and- were those _bones?_ Long blue limbs stretched on for days from broad shoulders and a narrow waist. And the markings... Ingrid had only seen her husband's beautiful display on his cobalt skin once when he had changed for her, just before their wedding. He'd refused to show her his Jötunn form again, no matter how many times she'd begged him. But the dots and lines along this giants's body were exquisite, spiraling and sailing along his limbs in a pattern of unspeakable beauty. This exotic creature wore silver-plated Schynbald -armor covering his shins and heavy boots, a jeweled chest-plate and some kind of leather kilt or loincloth. When her eyes finally rose to his ruby red ones, the Jötunn grinned, showing the tips of razor-sharp fangs. "Do you like what you see, slave?"

Ingrid leaned forward with a snarl, still managing to look dangerous while securely bound. "I am no slave. I am Queen Ingrid of Asgard and you will die for this. How _dare_ you-"

With a growl, the Frost Giant cut her off. "You will be silent! Slaves do not speak and believe me. You are a slave," he leaned forward with a cruel grin, "mine, in fact. To do with what I please. And oh, pretty thing, I have so many things planned for you." He rose then, and Ingrid looked up, and up and up until her neck cracked as he strolled down the steps of his dias and stood before her, legs arrogantly apart in just the way her Loki would. "You blurted out a name," he hissed, "my brother's. Do not utter it again. I am the rightful King of Jötunnheim."

The Elf ground her teeth in fury. What madness was this? Loki ruled the frozen world of the Frost Giants. He had no siblings. No one to aspire to the throne. No one certainly, powerful enough in magic to abduct her from Asgard and to here. Was she in a parallel universe? What could possibly be happening here? Ingrid shook her head, eyes narrowed. "You do not silence me, pretender. My husband rules Jötunnheim. Loki," she emphasized tauntingly, "rules the Frost Giants."

This time the Jötunn answered her with a roar, arms stretching towards her as if to throttle the life from her. But Ingrid had no reason to hide her gifts any longer. With a resounding "crack!" that felt like the air in the massive room was somehow displaced, her magnificent, snowy white wings shot from between her shoulder blades, exploding her enchanted bonds as she flew at the Frost Giant with a hiss that made the several ton slabs of stone beneath them rumble and shift. They crashed together with a fury, twisting and turning in mid-air as they tore at each other, both attempting to land a blow that would incapacitate the other. The blue King smashed into a wall, leaving a sizeable dent and a shower of granite chips and dust cascading down as he shot out with a howl, leaping at the Elf and squeezing her between his impossibly long arms, folding her wings back inwards. Ingrid laughed breathlessly, slamming her forehead brutally into his and stunning him briefly as she twisted loose, one wing slamming him sideways and halfway across the room. He groaned, having smashed headfirst into his own ice and ebony throne and exploding it into pieces. But the Jötunn was already up and thrusting one blue fist towards her and shouting, _"Slaven blir straffet!_ "

Ingrid screamed, in rage, pain, and frustration. Lightning blue streaks of fire shot out from his fingers and encircled her, humming and sparking ominously and she twisted and writhed, trying to break free from the net of energy that was racing up her body, slithering along her skin and spiking nerve endings. To her horror, she could feel her center begin to warm as the enchanted fire moved along it, making her lower lips swell and eagerly moisten. The Elf was furious. How could her body betray her like this? To an enemy?

That enemy was strolling towards Ingrid, absently smoothing back his hair in an unconsciously sensual move. One she'd seen her husband use many times and it never failed to arouse her. "Pretty little Fairie. You did not think I knew? Your kind are meant to be subjugated. Under my foot. Writhing on my cock. And you will be, slave."

 _"Skitten dyr! Monster! Feil ting!"_ Ingrid shouted the spell, one Loki had taught her and one that should have torn her assailant into a thousand pieces. It did not, and he continued his inexorable stroll towards her, crimson eyes examining her beautiful, wiggling form. 

Instead, he raised one huge hand and made an almost negligent gesture. _"Åpne nå for din konge, lille fugl."_ To her horror, Ingrid found herself on her back on the massive fur again, and her legs- as directed by this arrogant blue bastard, were indeed spreading wide for him. And then he was standing above her, loosening his chest plate and armor and tossing them away carelessly. Ingrid's breath caught in her throat. Even shielded by his heavy leather coverings, she could see his cock begin to rise. It was suitably- and terrifyingly enormous. The Jötunn knew where her gaze was caught, and he grinned insolently. "I begin to think mounting you will not be such a battle, Fairie."

This time, Ingrid's foot broke loose and shot up viciously, heading for the gigantic bulge in his kilt and the Frost Giant turned enough to catch the blow on his thigh. Still, it was clearly painful and he growled, showing his sharp canines in warning and pounced on her, shoving his knees between hers and blocking the Elf's furious attempt to close them. "Off me, beast!" she hissed, "Or I swear I will tear you limb from limb. I do not need the true king to destroy you!"

Ingrid's taunt hit home, and his eyes lit with an unholy fire. Yanking his leathers loose, he pulled his cock from them and arched his hips at her, stroking the massive blue organ. It was glimmering cobalt and like the rest of him covered with swirling marks of his clan, ridged lines...

"...That will rub along the tender silk of your cunt, slave. Adding to your pleasure until you beg me to come." Chuckling unkindly at the look of fury on Ingrid's lovely face, he continued, "Yes, I can hear your thoughts, slave. And I will sink into you to the root. Shoving my spear through your body until you feel skewered upon my cock. Hmmm... even wetter, slave. You want this, don't you?" 

She couldn't speak- why? Ingrid grappled with the rising arousal and confusion. She should be screaming at this filthy bastard, using her powers to dissolve his brain and make it drip from his ears as he howled in agony, so why...? "AAAH! You do not dare!" The rest of her protest was cut off as the Jötunn fastened his frozen mouth against her heated quim. His shoulders moved in laughter but his tongue was occupied in tracing along her clitoris and tickling the entrance to her cunt. His hugely broad shoulders shoved her thighs wider, painfully wide and held them open as his frigid lips closed over her cunt in a filthy, carnal kiss. Ingrid was shaking and writhing, trying to move and dislodge this bastard- this invader from her body but he didn't even twitch. And oh, by the Nornir, his long, chilly tongue was sliding up her fiery hot channel, stroking in a terrible, knowing way that told her he was quite familiar with Elven physiology and knew exactly what he was doing to her! Ingrid continued to try to fight, to move away but her eyes closed, unable to look at him. Because this Jötunn was beautiful. Thick black lashes in a fan on those cruel cheekbones, and his hair- so wonderfully thick and silky stroking along her sensitive belly and tickling her breasts. His detailed musculature under that smooth cerulean skin begged to be traced, and his hips were mindlessly thrusting against her knees. Without thinking, just trying to shove him away from her somehow, Ingrid flailed out, grabbing one of his horns.

This was a mistake. With a long, shuddering growl, his head rose from her quim, chin wet with her slick and a snarl on his face. The Jötunn's huge chest was heaving and he moved swiftly up her body, his cock trailing surprisingly hot lines of the moisture oozing from it along her thighs. Ingrid's lavender gaze was wide and startled. His horns, his long, shining ebony horns were blazing with heat in complete contrast to the rest of his polar-cold body. The Frost Giant was desperately trying to keep a hold on his sanity. The Elf had touched the one thing that made him vulnerable- his horns. The strokes of her soft hands and her initial, desperate grasp of it had stiffened his cock to an impossible length and it was everything he could do to not simply shove it up inside her as hard as he could, hammering himself into that sweet quim until she-

Groaning, his head dropped between her breasts, those long horns bracketing her face and holding her immobile. With a muttered curse under his breath, the Jötunn magicked her hands over her head and drew in a breath. Leaning over her, he grinned insolently. "I'm going to take you now, Queen of Asgard. Elf. Fairie. I'm going to force my cock inside your heated little body and split you wide. And when I am done, you will beg me to take you again." He laughed when she hissed at him, baring her teeth. Angling his beautiful, chilly body over hers, he took his indigo cock in hand, sliding it up and down her wet lips, enjoying the conflict in her expression as Ingrid tried to close her thighs against him. "Open up, little slave, I own you, and I own _this."_ He plunged into her as he finished his taunts and Ingrid bit back a scream, ending in more of a strangled shriek. "There we are..." he crooned in that deeply sonorous voice, so deep that it rumbled in her bones like a bass drum, playing along her spine and making her arch helplessly against his frigid chest. 

Ingrid was gasping and moaning, so overwhelmed that she couldn't speak, couldn't fight. There had been no one for her but her husband, no cock that invaded her narrow channel but his. But this! The Jötunn's shaft was cool, cool as well water and so wide, splitting her just as he'd threatened and then those lovely, raised markings rubbing against her wildly sensitive channel, making her stomach muscles tighten, her toes point helplessly, her nails sink into the tough skin of the Frost Giant's biceps. He growled, thrusting up into her harder, enjoying the quivering silk of her, her sweet-smelling slick flowing to help him drive in deeper. Reaching one black taloned finger down, he slid it around the strained entrance to her cunt, enjoying the feel of it stretched so tightly around him. Holding the blue digit up to her eyes, he laughed tauntingly. "Protest all you like sweet slave. You want this. You want me." Bracing his feet, the Jötunn pushed and slid, moving deeper inside her, deeper than Ingrid imagined her channel could possibly accommodate. The force of his thrusts was pushing the gasping Elf backward against the fur, and as her silver hair flowed dangerously close to the fireplace, he growled and went back on his long haunches, pressed against his heels as he hauled Ingrid upright, balancing her in front of him as her hands grasped blindly at his shoulders. The huge hands slid up her waist and behind her to cradle the Elf by her shoulder blades, leaning her back as his glacial mouth landed on one pink nipple, pulling it with his lips, enjoying her startled squeal. As he moved to her other breast, the Jötunn chuckled low in his throat. "Such bounteous breasts..." he rumbled, "so full and soft."

"My- my mother hated them, she said I had 'the teats of a peasant,'" Ingrid suddenly volunteered, shocked at the words coming out of her mouth, confiding to this- this bastard- this arrogant blue villain who was vigorously hauling her up and down on that thick staff of his.

He looked up suddenly, his ruby eyes glowing a vicious crimson again. "Fortunate the monstrous bitch is dead and gone. It would have pleased me to end her myself." He arched his hips up aggressively as he brought her down against him, bringing himself to the hilt inside her, the coarse hair at his pelvis rubbing against her swollen clitoris. The Jötunn suckled at her breasts again, growling low like an animal, a wolf perhaps. At some point, Ingrid found one little hand gripping tight to a handful of his thick hair as the other one slid gently along one of his horns, enjoying his snarl of pleasure and feeling the heat of it against his fingers. The hard ebony of it was smooth against her fingers, sleek and boiling hot- warming her as the rest of him chilled her flushed skin and smoldering cunt. Ingrid was half out of her mind, horrified to realize she was about to come around his invading cock, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. The Jötunn must have felt it, because his hands went to her hips, pulling her down more tightly as his thrusts shortened, sharpened inside her. "And now delicious, perfect slave it is time. On the Night of Sacrifice, you are my Jólablót. I will not impale you on my dagger but upon my cock. Come now, soak me with your come, Ingrid. Your pleasure is mine to own, and I will have it from you. NOW!"

Wide, mesmerized lavender eyes met glowing vermilion, and Ingrid, the Queen of Asgard and the last of the Fairie, found herself obeying this pillaging Frost Giant and came. Screaming, writhing, clutching his horns and ignoring his groans as she arched and shrieked through an orgasm so powerful that heavy stone walls shift and cracked, and the flames roared out from the fireplaces, sending wild shadows against the stone walls and nearly setting the fur beneath them ablaze. And he came too, so powerfully that the Elf could feel it warm her belly, her chest as she fell against him, panting and moaning, still coming as his finish seeped from her flooded cunt. The two wrapped their arms around each other tightly, still attached and rocking slightly.

 

"You were perfection, my beautiful, exquisite wife," Loki finally managed to croak.

Head still resting on his shoulder, Ingrid giggled weakly. "You were far too convincing, husband. I nearly brought the stones of this hall down on top of you before I realized it was indeed, Loki, the God of Mischief."

Groaning as he gently disengaged from her and watching the flood of his slick and hers pour from his wife's somewhat battered quim, Loki kissed Ingrid. "And the Night of Sacrifice is finished, Jólablót has been made." Waving a hand to tidy his wife and dress her again, the King of Asgard lifted her in his arms. "I have used you roughly, my darling. I shall make amends with great tenderness when we are alone in our bed."

Ingrid laughed, hiding her face in his neck. "I would do it again, every Jól. God Jól, indeed!" Loki shook his head at his sweet wife's little dirty joke and the Frost Giant's throne room disappeared.

 

_____________________________

 

Later in their shadowy bedroom, Loki kept his promise, luring his wife to bed with sweet words. He kissed her over and over, whispering of the beauty of her face, reflected in the firelight, the perfection of her body, the tightness of her quim, and they finished together with sighs and moans. Loki murmured, "I love you, wife," falling asleep still inside his beloved Ingrid as she whispered her love in return.

 

"Slaven blir straffet!" - "The slave is punished."

"Skitten dyr! Monster! Feil ting!"   -  "Filthy animal! Monster! Foul thing!"

"Åpne nå for din konge, lille fugl." - "Now open for your king, little bird."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While it might almost be sacrilegious to compare Loki to a goat, there are certain breeds that have blood vessels in their horns, rather than just cartilage, and their horns are surprisingly, startlingly hot.


	4. Who's Your Santa?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Robert and Arianna discover what a difference surviving the hell of the High Rise can make in what really matters during the holidays.
> 
> Merry Christmas! This one-shot is divided into two chapters, before the High Rise, and after the fall of the High Rise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for misreall, thefifthraven23, and a lovely guest's request for Robert and Arianna from "Dr. Laing's Loose End," my first fanfiction and still my favorite. Misreall suggested a pre and a post High Rise Christmas, to show the changes that concrete monstrosity wrought in the couple.

_Pre- High Rise..._

 

"Where are we going tonight?" Arianna was just pulling on her elegant red beaded dress when Robert strolled into the dressing room of their home in Knightsbridge. 

He straightened his sleeves and deftly inserted monogrammed cuff links before pulling on his tux jacket. "This evening's gala..." there was only a slightly sarcastic tone as her husband answered her, "is the Royal Holiday Children's Charity. Rumor has it that Prince William and the lovely Princess Kate will be there."

"Oh, I like them!" Arianna knew she was gushing a little based on Robert's tolerant smile. "Well, I do," she answered defensively, "they've done so much to push the new children's charity programs."

"True." The Doctor Laing's long, elegant fingers were sliding over her collarbones, left exposed by the little straps of her gown, and Ari shifted nervously as his gaze turned polar, a shade that often guaranteed they'd be late for whatever they might be heading to. Not that the new Mrs. Laing would mind very much. This was the fifth black tie event they were attending in the last week and a half, and she would not have minded a quiet night at home with her ridiculously handsome husband. But since the neurosurgeon would be receiving yet another award, their presence was not optional. Her attention returned decisively to her spouse when he spoke again, his voice lower and somehow thicker. "Stand up, darling."

Smiling nervously, the girl did so. When Robert got like... this, it was best to obey quickly. So quickly in fact, that she was embarrassed again by his knowing smile. His hands had slipped to her hips, sliding along the beading on the gown. When those long, dextrous surgeon's fingers paused at the long slit, daringly split to mid-thigh, Ari let out a nervous laugh. "Robert... we don't want to be late." Her husband had bought this dress for her, and while it was beautiful on her, she'd suspected it was the daring slit to the side that prompted its purchase.

Ignoring her little protest, he idly moved his hand under the fabric. "And what sort of knickers might you be wearing with this lovely dress, darling?" Ari's lashes fluttered, feeling the rasp of the calloused pads of his fingers moving along the top of her thigh, pausing at her center.

"Um... black lace? Bikini cut?" his bride answered, still disbelieving that her intimidating husband, THE Doctor Robert Laing, invested quite of bit of time and interest in her undergarments.

"Mmmm." Robert's beautiful mouth pursed disapprovingly. "I can see the line, darling. The dress is too sung for bulky panties. Take them off, please." He watched with a certain amusement as his sweet bride turned pale. 

"B- but Robert, I can't go to a black tie event with the Prince and Princess in attendance without undies!" Somehow, it was the fact that the Royal couple would be there that put going bare-bottomed into the "Absolutely not!" category. But even as she was protesting, Ari was indeed pulling down the offending underwear and slipping them off. She'd learned in their courtship and short marriage that her husband did not take "no" for an answer.

He laughed indulgently, the movement making his stern face heart-stoppingly handsome. "No darling, of course not." Robert held up a tiny scrap of red silk. "I believe these will not show under your dress. And..." his eyes dropped to where his hand was still wedged between the smooth skin of her thigh and the dress, "I shall spend the entire evening picturing how I've prettily wrapped your little kitty." He knelt slowly, his tongue sweeping out to trace along her leg as he lifted it by the ankle. "Put your foot here, very good, now the other..."

Arianna sagged against the marble counter, gripping it with her fingers. The feel of those warm hands against her was unbearably good. Robert lifted her dress slightly at the waist to smooth the fabric of the underwear over her hips. She felt a thin string of silk settle between her buttocks. 'Damn,' she thought bleakly, 'a g-string.' She hated those- the feeling of constantly battling a wedgie. So uncomfortable! And these felt a little bulky- like, what, too thick or something? The new Mrs. Laing didn't have any time to analyze the new addition, because her beautiful husband was stroking her hip bones with his thumbs and running the tip of his tongue up the pulsing artery in her neck.

"Lovely," he growled, "I won't be able to concentrate tonight, picturing your pretty ass under this dress." He grinned against her neck as Ari giggled helplessly. God, she was still so innocent, even after all the dark and delightful games he'd introduced into their sex life.

It was in Robert's Jaguar that Arianna finally figured out why the g-string felt so odd. There was something slipped into the crotch. When it started a low buzz, she yelped and grabbed the dashboard. "Wh- what is _that?"_

Moving his thumb over the surface of a small device, her heartless spouse smiled as this time, the pulse was so strong that Arianna nearly jumped out of the seat. "Just a little something to keep you occupied tonight, darling. I know how dull these affairs can be. With a single touch of this remote, I can keep you quite distracted."

"I'm never bored!" she blurted desperately, there was no way she could have this thing next to her girl parts all night. It would kill her. People would know! "Really, Robert, please don't make me because I won't be able to keep a straight face, you know it!"

As always when she pleaded, he ignored her. "Be a good girl and keep that lovely spine straight and tall. No one will know if you control yourself."

"But I can't!" Ari begged, "I can't do that!"

"Ah, we're here," Robert interrupted, "your best behavior, little one." He'd swiped his thumb one more time over the remote, and her hips came off the seat just as the valet opened her door. With a humiliated flush, Ari got out of the car.

One of Robert's more impressive skills was steering his wife gently through a crowd without a single person brushing against them, Arianna in particular. And she was more than grateful for it tonight because that horrible... thing in her undies was buzzing away, changing from one vibration to the next, almost making her stumble if the cycle was too strong. Her skin felt so flushed, so miserably sensitized that she was sure she'd jump right out of it if anyone touched her. Ari could feel the heat of Robert's hand at the small of her back, guiding her. Feeling her shudder slightly as the rhythm changed again, he chuckled softly, running two fingers up the hollow of her spine.

"Dr. Laing! A pleasure, Dr. Martins-Bowles, I will be presenting your award tonight. May I have a quick word?" Arianna forced a smile as her husband politely introduced her to the older man before stepping away for a moment.

"Be a good girl while I'm gone..." he murmured, it might have sounded playful to anyone else, but Arianna took it as a threat. God, how much worse could this horrible device get? Unfortunately, she found out. Taking her first sip of champagne offered by a passing waiter, the girl almost choked on it when the vile device in her undies suddenly started pulsing against her clit, almost like fingers. Of course, it was the precise moment when one of Robert's partners and her husband waved at her, making their way over. 

"Isn't this exciting, Ari?" Dr. Aarushi Patel was her favorite of Robert's partners, a brilliant neurosurgeon who did not look down on her partner's younger wife. "This is a magnificent honor for the Neurology Department, not just Robert. You must be so proud." Arianna forced a smile, nodding vigorously as the horrible pattern against her center changed again. Dr. Patel's husband was staring at her speculatively, and the girl was somehow certain he knew what was going on. She made stilted conversation with the other couple until she couldn't stand it anymore and made a beeline for the ladies room. She was taking this thing out- trying to concentrate while praying she wasn't leaving a wet spot on the back of her gown was making her look like an idiot, and in front of Robert's partner, no less! Ari was almost there- almost home free when she heard Robert's beautiful voice behind her. 

"And where do you think you're off to, darling?" Groaning inwardly the girl turned to look up at her unfairly attractive husband, whose mouth was lingering in a half smile as he looked her up and down. She was a sight, his lovely bride. Cheeks painfully flushed and breasts heaving, wide eyes looking up at him pleadingly. He stepped closer, crowding her gently into the wall. "My sweet, obedient girl wouldn't dream of disobeying me by taking off her knickers, would she? You do remember your concern about attending this event with a bare arse?"

Deeply alarmed, she watched his hand move to his tux jacket pocket, where she knew he was keeping the diabolical device that made these panties torment her. "Please Robert," Arianna begged, "I- I can't take it. I was trying to talk to Aarushi- from your practice? And I sounded like an idiot! Please?" His pale blue eyes were focused on her breasts again, the shade unsettling. His gaze was cool, assessing instead of warm and her heart sank.

"Are you saying you want me to remove the device that's buzzing against your tender clit, darling?" his mouth was next to her ear, his breath hot and smelling faintly of champagne. He smiled darkly when Arianna nodded desperately. "Very well, come with me." Leading her swiftly from the ballroom, Robert steered her down a dark hall, the music fading behind them. Opening a door, he looked briefly behind them to make sure no one was in the hallway and pushed her gently through. It was a small office- some light coming in from the window, enough to see the tall figure of her husband lock the door. He walked towards her, backing Ari into the edge of the desk. "I'm a little disappointed, darling." Laing's voice wasn't particularly reproachful, but it made his little wife feel like a cold bucket of water was pouring down her back. Shame. She hated that look- that she wasn't daring enough. Sexy enough. Just... not enough for someone as perfect and sophisticated as her husband. "But since you feel you can't go on..." His big hands were already slipping under the high slit in her dress and fingers hooking into the sides of the g-string. When it was down around her ankles, Arianna breathed a sigh of relief, which was cut off abruptly when The Doctor Laing lifted her abruptly onto the desk, stepping between her legs and widening them further. 

Gasping, Arianna timidly tried to protest, "Robert? You're about to be called onstage and someone might catch us here!" He cut off her pleas with a greedy kiss, sliding his tongue along her slick, lipsticked mouth until she opened with a whimper. Laing kissed her thoroughly, making the rasping sound of his zipper coming down seem fuzzy. It wasn't until her husband slid the back of her thighs along his forearms and linked them with his elbow that she gasped. The move put her off balance, back arching and hands grasping behind her to balance on the desk. Ari could feel the cool air on the wet lips of her center and she squirmed, embarrassed at her husband's close examination of her pussy.

"So wet..." he said approvingly, "filthy, delicious little girl. I do believe you enjoyed that vibrator more than you're willing to admit." Angling his hips, Robert slid his considerable erection up and down, pushing against Ari's clitoris each time, listening for that little hitch in her breath. "Should I just leave you like this, baby girl? Slippery and wet? Dripping down your legs as we sip champagne and discuss charity with all these lovely people?" She was breathless, and Robert could tell she was trying to form a sentence. "No?" he asked, falsely solicitous, "well then I will take care of that juicy little kitty of yours right now." His hand moved fast enough to go over his wife's mouth as he thrust hard inside her, knowing Arianna had trouble keeping quiet. "Shhh... baby," he whispered, immediately pushing in and out of her silky heat. "You don't want anyone hearing us, do you? Imagine how humiliating it would be- a security man perhaps, opening the door to find me thrusting into your soaking wet cunt? Be quiet, little girl. Not a word."

Arianna's knuckles were white, holding on to the edge of the desk and trying to keep from moaning. That huge cock of her husband's was in her and thrusting aggressively, feeling the weight of it spreading her and the slapping sound of his hips against her thighs. She moaned involuntarily when Robert made a particularly hard push and he muffled it quickly with the palm of his hand. "R- Robert," Ari gasped, words slurred against his hand, "I don't think I can d- do it here, c- uh, come, I mean... It's too- anyone could find us... OH!" Another rough push that slid her ass across the desk and pushed her flat derailed the girl's efforts to plead with the beautiful man above her, head tilted slightly back in pleasure and watching her face under his half-closed lids.

Robert laughed breathlessly, "Ah, but I believe you can, little girl. And I am your Sir, and you will do as you're told." He knew his pretty bride was equal parts embarrassed and aroused, but he was quite certain he could tip the balance. Reaching down, he stroked his long fingers around her strained entrance, enjoying the gleam of slick around her, smearing on to his cock and wetting his pelvis. "You are far too wet for some timid little thing that cannot come for her Sir. Such a slick, dirty girl. Now come for me like a good girl. And do it now." He gave an especially hard thrust that nearly sent Arianna shooting off the other side of the desk, and the brutal move did it's work, making his sweet Ari's long, elegant spine arch and her knees attempt to slam together, muscles rigid as she rode out her orgasm. When he was sure the tremors had passed, Robert began thrusting again, fingers sliding back and forth, bracketing her swollen clit tightly. Leaning close, he whispered in his deep, poisonous way, "Come again, baby. Come with your Sir." And just as he ordered, Ari gave another strangled shriek as she felt the heat of his come shoot through her as she followed him down. The silence of the office was broken by their subdued panting, Robert resting his head on his wife's heaving chest for a moment as he recovered. Standing upright with a slight groan, he brushed back his hair with his fingers, making his close-cropped hair smooth again. Helping Arianna up, he pressed a linen napkin pilfered from the buffet against her wet center and drew her damnable undies back up her legs, removing the small button in the crotch that had tormented her all night. Straightening her dress, he gave her a filthy smile. "Your hair is somewhat disordered, darling. I suggest you tidy up in the restroom."

Arianna nodded, letting him pull her by the hand to the door. "I'll hurry, it's almost time for your award presentation!"

Robert frowned. "Ah, I'll head towards the ballroom then. See you there," he leaned close so two elderly couples passing by couldn't hear them, "my sweet, tasty slut." He didn't see his wife's painful flush as one of the men eyed her up and down. 

The girl hurried through her efforts to tidy herself in the bathroom, bitter that her oh, so brilliant neurosurgeon husband could look perfectly unruffled after debauching her at an event like this, and she looked like she'd been 'pulled backward through a shrub,' as her mom used to say. Racing to get back to the ballroom in time, Arianna's heart sank as she heard The Doctor Laing's resonant voice, his perfect elocution finish with, "And thank you. We have all made great strides together in treating pediatric seizure disorders." The band started up again as the applause swelled for Laing's gracious speech. That she hadn't been here for. Blinking away frustrated tears, Ari pasted a smile on her face as she headed for the stage. "Where were you?" It was Dr. Patel, looking at her disapprovingly, "You missed Robert's speech!"

The young Mrs. Laing opened her mouth to protest, tried to excuse herself, and then her shoulders drooped. "In the ladies," she said, feeling frustrated and foolish. They were becoming common emotions in her new life.

 

Continuing later today: The Present: After The Fall Of The High Rise.

 


	5. Santa, Baby...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arianna finds out what they're having for Christmas dinner. And that her cold, dark husband has a secret romantic streak a mile wide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's part two - the After - the Robert and Arianna's adventures after the fall of the High Rise. A very warm and loving Happy New Year to everyone here in our community. I have a wonderful feeling that 2019 will be a year of great prosperity and contentment for us all.

 

 

_Part two: After the fall of the High Rise..._

 

"This is beautiful!" Arianna called out joyfully as Robert obligingly lowered the roof on their convertible as they sped along A12. In what she called Before, Arianna would never have dared to ask her husband to lower to the top his Jaguar in winter- late December to be exact- while blasting the heat on high. But here they were, alive, happy, and on their way to spend Christmas in a secluded cottage on Mersea Island.

 

 

"You'll love it, darling," Robert had assured her as they packed. "Beautiful, a Christmas market on the mainland, but when the tide comes in... we are cut off from everyone and you are completely..." he did that sinuous glide that always reminded Ari of a panther, "...utterly at my mercy." He pulled her back against him with an arm around her waist, and the girl sighed at the feeling of his hard chest against her. "Anything could happen," he whispered in her ear, making Arianna shiver, "and no matter how loudly you might scream pet, there is no one to save you from me..."

Had The Doctor Laing suggested this scenario a year ago, Arianna would have not found this at all enticing. But now... "That sounds completely, utterly terrible, Daddy," she'd sighed, pushing her lower back against what was becoming a rather promising sign of her husband's interest.

 

 

The storm clouds started crowding above them as they closed in on Mersea Island, and they put the Jaguar's roof back up as Arianna watched the waves turn a dark gray and choppy. "Looks like we're just in time to get across the spit before the tide comes in," she ventured, feeling vaguely excited by the idea of being "trapped," even temporarily, with her tall and beautiful husband.

The waves were higher than usual, pushed into choppy patterns by the incoming storm, and it was raining heavily by the time they reached the secluded cottage He had rented. Stopping as close to the front door as he could, Robert shook out Ari's jacket and handed it to her. “Put this over your head, darling, let’s get you inside and I’ll light a fire to warm you up.” His brow quirked at her sweet smile, staring at him adoringly. “What are you smiling at?”

Arianna flushed a little. “You,” she confessed, “you always take such good care of me.”

Robert’s beautiful face clouded briefly. “Not always.”  

He was out the door before she could retort, and Ari sighed. He was still blaming himself for the High Rise. Her door ripped open and his hand thrust in, taking hers and pulling her briskly out of the Jaguar. The cottage was beautifully simple- whitewashed stone with glossy green shutters and a slate roof. There were seashells embedded into the front walk past the picket fence. A huge gust of wind nearly ripped the front door from her hands, and her husband’s long arm reached in to help pull it shut. Shaking off their coats, Ari hung them up and started exploring while Robert knelt in front of the fireplace, pleased to see someone had already laid the wood in for a fire. “This is perfect!” the girl said happily, grinning a little at the thought that of course, the cottage would be perfect, as if anything, even a building would dare disappoint The Doctor Robert Laing. The main room boasted a huge fireplace and many double-paned windows. There was a spacious kitchen, and opening the refrigerator, Ari could see someone had already stocked it with her husband's grocery requirements. Upstairs was a loft bedroom with a massive four-poster bed, a cozy fireplace and squishy couches and an ensuite bathroom with lovely hexagonal green and tiles on the big shower and an old-fashioned clawfoot tub. Heading back into the bedroom, the girl impulsively jumped onto the bed, luxuriating in the fat featherbed and soft, hand-stitched quilts. Even so, her lips twitched. Robert had insisted on a four-poster bed, and it wasn’t for it’s warm and “homey” feel. There’d be ropes attached to those posts by tonight. Embarrassed by the little shudder that ran up her spine, Arianna got up and headed down the stairs to help her dark husband get them settled. The man in question was squatting in front of the big fireplace, rearranging the wood to make a bigger blaze. Staring at his sculpted ass, brought into delightful detail by the stretch of his black jeans, Ari tilted her head, sighing a little.

Her husband stood, brushing off his hands and looking at her quizzically. “And what is responsible for that girlish little smile, darling?” To his amusement, the girl blushed, shaking her head.

"Nothing!" Arianna gulped.

Robert's head lowered a bit, those vivid eyes looking up under his dark brows, and he began to sinuously move towards her. "Really..." he purred, so low that she could hear the rumble in his broad chest and the girl started backing away hastily, putting the big harvest table between them. No word could ever be as imbued with meaning as _that_ one, used by the dark and terrifying Doctor Laing to indicate that things were about to become rather... intense usually with Arianna on her back and likely tied up. Yelping a little as he feinted to the left, she used those ballet-sculpted legs to scamper past his grasp and circled the table again. To which Robert simply vaulted over the obstacle and seized her, having his wife on her back against the wood and legs wedged open with his hips in a moment. “And now what will you do, little girl?” he was whispering into Ari’s ear, enjoying the heaving of her breasts against him. “Were you that eager for Daddy to play with you?” His hands were moving up and down her sides, slipping under and tickling her.

Arianna let out a little shriek, wiggling madly and trying to get away from those long, gripping fingers. “No, Daddy! No, I was just… Aahahaha!” The tickling was a new torture The Doctor Laing had discovered by accident, it was much more playful than his usual erotic and serious torments. But it was equally effective in reducing his sweet wife to mush. “No! I was admiring how n-nice AH! How niceyourasslookedinthosejeansDaddy!”

Fingers pausing, Robert raised a brow. "Why, my sweet Ari. Are you _objectifying_ me?" He began tickling again, and they barely heard to knock on the door over Ari's hysterical laughter. Groaning, he stopped the torture, dipping his head to her chest for a moment before pulling away regretfully and helping his wife up. "You really ought to find a comfortable spot on that table," he hissed into her ear, "since you'll be spending quite a bit of time there."

Daringly, Arianna leaned in as the knocking at the door began again. “Anything you say… Daddy.” As she expected, he drew in a deep breath and narrowed his vivid eyes at her.

“Expect retribution for that, little girl.” Enjoying her gasp, Robert made for the door, pasting on his best “This better be important” expression.

It turned out to be the caretaker for the cottage, a grandmotherly-looking woman who was not at all impressed by his forbidding countenance. “Dr. and Mrs. Laing, I see? Welcome, I’m Marilyn Aimes, I’ve laid in the groceries you asked for, and…” she actually dipped under Laing’s arm blocking the door and walked over to a startled Arianna, hand out.

Smiling as she took Marilyn’s hand, Ari realized the woman had done it to pull her in slightly, dark brown eyes running over the girl’s face and neck. ‘Ah,’ she realized, ‘she’s checking for bruises, she must have heard me screaming and thought the worst.’ Fighting down the inevitable blush that she knew was spreading over her pale skin, the young Mrs. Laing sought to reassure the woman. “So nice to meet you, Mrs. Aimes, the cottage is so beautiful!”

Apparently satisfied with her examination, the older woman gave Ari’s hand a brisk shake and dropped it. “Your husband had asked about some of the village festivities, so I’ve dropped by a schedule for the Christmas market and the program tomorrow night for Christmas- there’s a big bonfire in the town square and caroling and such. Oh, and Dr. Laing? The item you requested is outside.”

Both of them turned to look at Robert, who was leaning against the couch, arms folded and a look of barely-concealed amusement on his face. He too knew exactly what the caretaker was doing when she examined his young wife. It wasn’t the first time. For the first two years of their marriage, Laing was forced to watch Ari’s parents carefully look her over at every get-together, clearly looking for signs of his “brutality” to his bride. He was certain that her father, in particular, would have suffered a coronary if he’d known his sweet little daughter begged for every bruise. “Ah, thank you, Mrs. Aimes,” he soothed, edging the woman politely towards the door, “we appreciate all your extra efforts. Goodbye then.”

The woman’s mouth twisted in amusement, but she nodded towards Arianna. “Goodbye. I hope we’ll see you in the village.”

“Thank you!” called Ari, “Happy Christmas.” She followed her husband out the door and squealed when she saw what he was picking up- a thick fir spruce. “We get a Christmas tree?” she gasped, “Thank you, Robert!”

He smiled down at her fondly, so handsome in his thick, oatmeal colored sweater. “How could I forget something as important as your Christmas tree? Though you do owe me now, darling.”

 

Arianna busied herself with putting away all their clothes and toiletries as Robert wrestled the tree into a stand and filled it with water. Coming back down from the loft bedroom, the girl eyed the tree. “But we don’t have any decorations… I can string some popcorn and cranberries, that’ll be-” She burst out laughing when he nodded towards the door. A box of ornaments and lights was sitting there.

“I believe you will find the popcorn and cranberries in the kitchen, darling,” Robert assured her as he stood, brushing the pine needles off his hands.

“Of course,” she laughed, shaking her head, “of course. It’s as if for a moment I’d forgotten I was married to THE Doctor Robert Laing, the man who never forgets anything.” 

The man’s dark brows drew together. “This is true darling, which reminds me of your debt.”

Ari’s pale eyes widened. “Debt?”

“Oh, yes…” he purred, strolling towards her. “Teasing me when I was forced to leave you and answer the door. My efforts in putting up this vastly uncomfortable tree…”

“Ah,” she nodded, “I see.” Opening her big green eyes into her most innocent, inquiring expression, Ari asked, “How can I ever repay you, Daddy?”

Robert smiled, showing all of his sharp white teeth. “I’m hungry.”

‘Oh, _shit,’_ thought Arianna.

She was flat on her back on the table, worn smooth by decades of use, naked. Robert had been most solicitous, building the fire so his wife felt the warmth of it on her skin, a pillow under her head. And, her legs spread as wide as they could go, each tied to a leg of the table. Ari was arching her back and moaning, pulling at the ties around her wrists, keeping them over her head.

“No pulling, little girl,” Robert raised his head from between her legs. “I told you to keep your hands to yourself and you didn’t listen to Daddy.” He gave a raspy chuckle with his lips against her clitoris, which made the girl gasp, “You know how I like to enjoy my food.” He gave the length of her- from opening to clit a long, luxurious lick.

Arianna’s head dropped back on the table with a thud. He was killing her, her horrible, beautiful, cruel husband. The thin skin on her inner thighs was red from beard burn, and she’d come the first time when he dug his bristled chin into her sensitive channel. Robert had slid in two fingers to stroke her through the orgasm, humming appreciatively against her wet lips.

“That’s one,” he’d whispered, then placed a sharp bite on one soft buttock, enjoying his wife’s startled screech. The next orgasm came from his fingers and his mouth on her breasts, taking one, then the other nipple very gently between his teeth and batting the abused portion back and forth with his tongue. Another bite, this time on the opposite cheek of Ari’s ass. “That’s two.”

“Oh, god,” she’d groaned, “Robert, I don’t know…” that earned her a brisk slap on her wet center, which made Arianna shriek.

“Who am I?” he’d asked, bending to his task again.

“Dah- oh god, Daddy you’re killing me!” Her eyes were closed blissfully and her legs were shaking from having been pulled so wide, but damn him- those sweet pulses going through her would barely subside and her diabolical daddy would be at her again. Ari could feel the bite marks burn a little as she balanced on one cheek and then the other.

“Poor darling,” he soothed, the little rumble with his deep voice spiraling up her spine. “I fear there’s no one to save you. The water has covered the road, leaving us quite alone here on the island.” She felt him lay his chest on hers, whispering into her ear, “You are completely at my mercy,” Robert purred, “though I fear I have none.” He proved this by lifting something into her line of vision.

“Is that- that’s an icicle,” Arianna moaned, a little confused. Robert was suddenly naked as well and sliding his hard piece of flesh between her legs, bumping gently against the top of her.

“It is, little one,” he grinned again. “Can you guess where it’s going?”

This time, the shriek that ripped from Ari’s throat could have been heard on the mainland. She’d been so warm- sweating a little from the fire and her husband’s unnaturally heated body- and now this frozen spike was sliding gently inside her. The girl felt a gush of fluid come from her and she moaned, humiliated.

“Beautiful…” Robert was stroking his cock in one hand and the icicle inside her with the other, watching avidly. “The heat of you inside, the ice is melting into a little flood, along with your sweet slick.” He placed a heavy forearm across her thrashing hips to hold them still. His lovely little wife’s nipples were peaked and painfully hard, and some gentle strokes with one rough fingertip across her sore little button was enough to send her into another orgasm just as the icicle melted. “That’s three.” And another bite, just where the curve of her buttock met her thigh. Arianna’s answering yelp made him purr again. “Oh, dear. The skin is so sensitive there, isn’t it darling? So many nerve endings…” The girl’s face was red and her mouth open, panting and unable to catch her breath. “Why darling, you’re not winded already, are you?”

Ari’s eyes didn’t have to be open to know that her husband was grinning down at her. She’d long since lost track of time and descended into a lovely, floaty place where nothing registered except sensation. “Uh…” she licked her lips, sighing with gratitude when Robert gently lifted her head and helped her drink some water. “I… what?” She felt and heard his laughter at the same time when he slid inside her. Opening her blurry eyes, Ari saw Robert above her, his head thrown back in arousal, jaw tight and eyes closed.

“Oh, little girl…” he groaned, “you’re freezing and on fire as I stroke through you. Beautiful, perfect darling…” His thrusts began to speed up, jolting Ari against her bonds until he quickly released her legs, wrapping them around his waist. “I will require one more orgasm from you, lovely.” Laing was panting now, pumping fiercely and feeling the tell-tale signs of her cunt rippling around his cock, slowing his thrusts and making him push harder. “One more… come for your Daddy like a good girl.” He slapped her ass suddenly, which made Ari tighten up in shock and nearly freeze his cock in place. “I fear I will be hard for days, seeing these bruises on your sweet, heart-shaped ass, enjoying the little gasp you make when you sit down..." This was something new, Robert’s desire to see his bite marks on his wife’s body, the pleasure he took in the bruises. Not that Ari could complain, she loved seeing her visceral response to his games, when she’d sink her teeth into his muscled shoulder when she’d come. "Come, baby, come with me now," he gritted out, "it's time."

The heat of his come boiling up her passage was wildly good and almost overwhelming after the episode with the icicle, and Dr. and Mrs. Laing cried out together as they came, shuddering and moaning, holding on to each other as the only solid thing in their orbit.

 

Still soaking an hour later in the hot water in that roomy tub- another selling point for the cottage, Ari was certain- she smiled as Robert idly peppered kisses down the side of her neck. “Robert…” she was trying to think of how to ask about something troubling her, but even knowing now that he wouldn’t become cold and angry at her- like before- it was hard to push down the anxiety.

His fingers were circling her nipples gently. “Hmmm?” he encouraged when she didn’t continue.

Ari blew out a breath, pushing some bubbles off her arm. “Doesn’t it upset you? I mean, when people like Mrs. Aimes look at us like that, check me for bruises?” She felt his chest move under her back in a chuckle. Good. So not angry, then.

“It did,” he admitted, “your parents looking at me like I was a monster, intent on debasing their daughter.” She stirred, but Robert tightened his arms gently. “Defile, yes.” She burst into laughter, as he’d intended. “I am cold,” he admitted, “the gravitas, as you call it?” His wife was still giggling helplessly, but she nodded. He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “But before, you were afraid of me-”

“I loved you!” Ari protested, turning around in the tub to straddle him anxiously.

“I know,” Robert soothed, “and I, you. From the beginning. But your fear made me angry, and it made me question everything I was. If I _was_ abusing you, wrong for you. But now…” he chuckled again as his eager bride was kissing his forehead, his jaw, along the tight cord in his neck. “Now… let them. I’ve never cared what others thought, as long as you were happy.”

They decorated the tree, enjoying the force of the wind rattling the windows and making the sturdy cottage even cozier. And later, Robert built another blaze in the bedroom's fireplace and tenderly made love to his wife in the cozy bed... while mentally deciding where to place the ropes for the next morning's romp.

 

Arianna had foolishly forgotten the state of her ass for a moment, so when she plopped into the Jaguar's passenger seat the next afternoon, she let out a loud gasp. Flushing at her beautiful, horrible husband's knowing grin, she settled a little on her side. To his credit, Robert gave her a long massage that morning, rubbing her sore wrists and ankles from the rope's binding and put a soothing lotion on her bottom. 

The bite marks still stung a little, but the girl still felt a pleasurable pull. Her dark husband loved seeing his marks on her, smoothing his warm hand over her ass and feeling her shudder. It was a constant reminder of his desire for her, so it made riding back to the mainland resting on her left hip not as uncomfortable as it could have been.

The Christmas Market was beautiful- the little town lit by gas lanterns against the early December evening. There was music everywhere- several different bands and a big dance floor set up in the town’s center for later in the evening. Robert draped a cherry red cashmere scarf over Arianna’s neck, shook his head and selected a mauve one, rubbing the soft wool against her cheek. He selected a beautiful pearl bracelet that would match the huge rope of pearls she had at home- the first gift he’d given her, along with her engagement ring. Ari mischievously dangled silk ties from either wrist, innocently asking Robert, “Do you like either of these, sweetheart?” His eyes blazed a polar blue, which promised retribution in her near future, but she bought them both. Sipping warm mulled wine as the sky faded, Robert pulled his wife to the dance floor, where the little band was tuning up.

“Nice to see the two of you out and about!” the cottage caretaker stood behind them, and the Laings turned to greet her. The older woman was smiling, her keen eyes examining them both. “I wasn’t sure you’d emerge until the new year.”

Robert smiled, shaking her hand again. “We are celebrating New Year’s Eve with my wife’s family in Edinburgh, or I believe you would be correct, Marilyn. Happy Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas to you both,” she nodded back. “You’re a lovely couple, I hope we’ll see you again soon.”

The soft sounds of “Santa Baby” began playing from the musicians, and Ari followed Robert on to the dance floor. He seemed to be looking for something, so she simply held on to his hand.

“Ah. Here we are,” slipping an arm around Ari’s waist, Robert led her into a graceful spin. “And…” his hand went to her chin, lifting it lightly to see a big bulb of mistletoe hovering over them. They were in the middle of the crowd, villagers smiling, most glancing their way. And her terribly private husband smiled down at her tenderly. “Happy Christmas, my angel. I love you so.” And Arianna smiled and closed her suspiciously damp eyes as she raised her mouth for his kiss.

 

 

 


End file.
